She Didn't Notice
by DuckofIndeed
Summary: "Even those passing by could see where the opposites between the two reversed, for even they saw the warmth his dark eyes always held only when he looked at her. A warmth she never seemed to notice." A collection of shorts following Snape and Lily's relationship.
1. Chapter 1: The Boy

My favorite scene in the books and movies was that whole summary of Snape's life, and I've always loved the relationship between Lily and him and wanted to attempt my own collection about the two, spanning from their meeting to the timeframe of the books. Thanks to a reviewer, I decided to break it into three chapters, for easier reading.

And Snape, Lily, and anyone and anything else mentioned in this story are property of J. K. Rowling.

* * *

**She Didn't Notice**

**Chapter 1: The Boy**

The rundown neighborhood of Spinner's End, if described in a word, was grey, but not for the color, for all the identical, little houses that lined the cracked streets like weary soldiers were brown, as was the dusty sky and the sluggish river that ran beside it. Among these little houses was one house in particular, and one family, which went by the name of Snape and which included a father, a mother, and a young son. The boy's name was Severus, a name he held great disdain for, but not just because no one tended to like the name picked out for them, but because he didn't like the things that happened when he heard it.

He often wandered the neighborhood to avoid his parents calling his name and to avoid the things they yelled when they forgot he was listening, and his wandering always led him, inevitably, to the river to watch the children in the playground. He spent many long hours watching them from behind the bushes as they played on the swings or chased each other in games of tag, and they never paid him any mind, and he doubted they would notice even if he did ever bother to step out into the open, but he didn't care anyway because they were stupid children, stupid like his father because they couldn't do anything special like he and his mother could.

His mother had taught him many things, the only things that really mattered, of magic and witches and wizards and creatures he could only imagine, an entire world he could tell no one about, had anyone even cared to listen. The only times, it seemed, the other children noticed he was there were to ask why he was so unwashed and why his clothes didn't fit right and why, even in the heat of summer, he would wear long sleeves and pants that covered all but his face and hands. And yet, at any other time, when they weren't asking questions or laughing regardless of the answers he gave, if any, he could almost swear he was invisible, and sometimes he believed it was possible to be a ghost without being dead.

He was nine when he first saw her, the girl with the red hair. She began coming to the river with her sister, and it was not just her abilities that made him take notice of her. What struck him most of all was that Lily was the first person he had ever met that didn't look right through him.

* * *

"I had the most awful dream last night, Sev," Lily told him one day as they sat at the river bank beneath the branches of a tree that leaned over the water in such a way, they almost thought it did so in order to better see its reflection.

They spent most of their days here, where the shade was cool and one could become lost in the tranquil lull of breezes blowing over water, if they weren't forced to stay alert to keep watch for spying and bitter older sisters. And it was fine if they got grass stains, for his mother didn't care if his clothes were clean, and hers cared enough to clean them.

"Well, what was it?" It was the obvious question, but the worried frown and furrowed brow she continued to direct out over the calm waters told him such prodding was necessary.

"I dreamt…I dreamt that we got in a terrible fight, and we weren't friends anymore." She turned to him, and a gentle gust of wind pushed stray strands of red hair into her face that only he seemed to take notice of. "That wouldn't ever happen, would it?"

He shook his head with as much seriousness as he could muster, but which was easier for him than most. "No. Never."

_For years, Severus would wake up to silent nightmares that held no screaming or calling for a mother who no longer came anyway. More often than not, he would jerk up in his bed, breathless and with his face wet with tears after dreaming of countless terrible things. Sometimes he would dream his parents were dead, and he lived alone in a silent and empty house with no doors and no windows, and other times he dreamt he had done something bad, and the dementors his mother had told him about were coming to drag him off to Azkaban for eternity._

_But, the biggest reason of all for his silence was so his father wouldn't hear him, because his father was real, and the dreams were not._

Lily smiled and brushed her hair from her face at his answer, and he would have grinned back if such things came easier to him, but Lily was his best friend and was the only one who recognized the grimace he made when it was really a smile that he meant.

"Do _you_ get nightmares, Sev?" The doubtful tilt to her eyebrows told him she already knew the answer, and his silence only served to confirm it.

And then, he shook his head, his answer simply, "Not anymore," and it was almost true. At least now, the nightmares didn't scare him like they used to. Not anymore.

* * *

Severus couldn't really understand why Lily was so shocked to hear that he had never eaten cookies before, but this shortcoming of his seemed to make more sense when he explained that his mother was so thin, she had likely never eaten sugar before in her life, and booze was more his father's cup of tea than anything else, a statement which had the potential to be humorous, or at the very least, a very ironic pun, if it hadn't been absolutely true.

Once the uncomfortable lull that followed had ended, Lily insisted that he come over to her house, and they'd make cookies, as her mother had recently bought eggs, and that had been the one ingredient their house had been lacking until two days ago. Her parents seemed obliging enough to their youngest daughter's wishes, and as far as he could tell upon her mother's most recent pass through the kitchen to retrieve something from the pantry, she didn't intend to exact any retribution on them for the mess they had made, or the butter he had wasted when he dropped an entire stick on the floor, and Lily had suggested cutting off the soiled part to be a satisfactory solution.

Just because Lily's parents seemed to have no qualms against their attempts at baking, however, that didn't mean they didn't receive resistance in the form of her older sister, Petunia, who wandered into the kitchen far too many times to be casual, especially when she would direct sour glances at him every time she came in to top off a glass of orange juice she hardly appeared to have touched. It wasn't until Severus was standing on a stepstool attempting to scrub sticky dough from the mixing bowl, while Lily was keeping close vigil on the rising temperature of an oven her mother suggested was wise to preheat so she could be fully prepared to alert her once the desired number had been reached, that Petunia made her true feelings known on her eighth visit in twenty minutes.

"Why's he always here?" she had asked in her younger sister's ear in a voice loud enough that contradicted the close proximity in which she asked it, and he glanced over just in time to catch a frown she had pointed his way as if he was a stray dog that had been allowed inside.

Rather than bother explaining, Lily met her gaze for several long seconds, as if to ensure her sister was prepared for the answer before the verbal part of it even came. "Fine, if you have a problem, we'll do it outside," she said at last, and Petunia pursed her lips at such an impossible statement.

"And how are you going to manage _that_?"

"Why, it's easy." Lily turned to wink at Severus, his arms still elbow-deep in soapy water that was beginning to turn cold. "We'll do it with magic, won't we, Sev?"

The dishes were forgotten, and the pair brought the pan of unbaked cookies out into the yard, and despite doubts that they would be able to make good on Lily's promise, he didn't dare voice it aloud and risk sounding like Petunia.

They sat on the patio together and proceeded to stare at the pan for a good half hour, and Severus found it rather difficult to share in Lily's optimism when the only change _he_ could see was when the balls of cookie dough began to melt, minor progress he was certain came merely from the sun's heat and not from their joint willpower. Again, he began to feel Petunia's gaze on his neck, and he frowned back on more than one occasion to catch her slipping out of view before he could get a good look at her.

Eventually, when even Lily's enthusiasm began to wane, based on the sag of her shoulders, Petunia peeked out the back door once again, but this time, a grimace backwards failed to remove her.

She met his gaze for only a second, an act that seemed to have been done by mistake when she was so quick to correct it, and Lily only bothered to look back when her older sister called out to them. "You freaks aren't going to accomplish anything by just sitting there all day! If mummy knew—"

Severus jumped to his feet with his hands balled into fists and his teeth set in a snarl. "Leave us alone! Go find yourself some actual _friends_ to pester!"

Petunia's eyes snapped wide open, and she released a horrified shriek that made little sense in response to his words, and he only broke eye contact with her when Lily tugged on the end of his sleeve. The pan of cookies, formerly untouched by every bit of magic the two had attempted to channel into it, was now engulfed in flames he knew their cookies would stand no chance at surviving.

By the time he looked back, Petunia was gone, but he could still hear her panicked screams as she retreated into the house, which involved multiple variations of the accusation, "Mummy, Lily's friend almost killed me! He tried to burn the house down! Mummy!"

Severus blinked sheepishly at the empty doorway, a splash from behind causing him to spin about to catch Lily standing next to a thoroughly blackened, but thoroughly soaked, pan with a bucket in her hands.

She smiled at him, hints of laughter present in her bright, green eyes and at the corners of her lips.

"I won't admit to it if you don't."

* * *

Just a quick note, that silly part at the end was inspired by the time a friend and I were making muffins. My friend dropped butter on the ground, which picked up all kinds of grime, and she merely cut off the gross part and still used it. Eww. I guess that works.

Please review, my dears!


	2. Chapter 2: The Student

**Chapter 2: The Student**

It was in second year Transfiguration class that they were tasked with turning quill pens into flowers. It was delicate work, thus the reason for the assignment, and it surprised no one, least of all Professor McGonagall, who had surely observed the same results, without fail, every year of her expansive career at Hogwarts, that the girls took to the task far more enthusiastically than the boys, who made it their goal to create the most hideous things imaginable, including a truly obnoxious specimen named James Potter who managed to turn his pen into a misshapen rafflesia.

There were exceptions, of course, and Severus spent the entire class period bent low over his desk with utmost concentration as the object before him sprouted one slow and labored petal after another, his efforts taking place to the tune of Potter's serenade of, "Snivelus likes flowers, but he certainly doesn't smell like one," up until he was silenced by the Professor's threat that if he liked noise so much, she might as well transform him into a bag pipe.

He learned how to create flowers from various objects after many nights spent practicing in the Slytherin common room after everyone else had gone to bed. The unnecessary work had taken its toll on the young wizard, and he had fallen asleep on the sofa on more than one occasion, but tonight, he wasn't sleeping. In fact, he was quite awake, even if he retained a nearly statuesque stillness as he stared at something lying before him on the table.

And then, with an inhalation of breath, he reached out a hesitant hand, his fingers outstretched, but unable to grasp the object as if he feared it would crumble like sand between his fingertips. He forced his thumb and forefinger to close upon it, and he lifted the flower up for careful inspection, this one the closest to the real thing he had ever created, a lily as white as the moon when it reflected off the river the nights they had wandered out to talk about things that were no different than during the daytime, but which felt so much more important when the stars were overhead.

By the time morning arrived, however, he had lost the nerve to give it to her.

* * *

For Severus, summer was not the happy break it was rumored to be, and it was the summer after their second year at Hogwarts that his normally glum face had lit up when Lily had invited him to come spend the day with her on the second weekend in June, though his enthusiasm didn't last upon hearing what it was. Her great aunt, or some such relative she knew next to nothing about, was getting married, and her parents told her she could bring one friend, and all the arguments he could think up as to why he wasn't fit to go to a wedding could do nothing to sway her. It was her green eyes, not to mention the promise that he would be forced to see very little of Petunia because her elder sister had decided to go ahead and help with the day's planning, that had caused him to relent.

He had been finding it more and more difficult to say no to those green eyes.

All his mother could find for him to wear was his father's old tuxedo from their own wedding, an event she didn't seem all too pleased to be reminded of. Not one inch of it fit him, however, as he was still far too short and too thin to properly fill it out, and the entire thing, from the too long pants to the stiff collar, smelled like mothballs, meaning the ragged patch down near the bottom corner of the jacket could have only been the work of rats. His hair, which always fell about his face in a flat, yet strangely unruly, manner was only made worse when he tried to run his hands over it after making his palms wet from the sink, and the bowtie remained crooked, no matter how many times he tried to straighten it.

Any hesitation he had felt was multiplied when he saw what Lily wore, a delicate green dress whose color further accentuated her eyes, adorned with ruffles bordering the hem of the skirt and a large, faux silk bow tied at the back, but she had reminded him right then and there that it was too late to back out when she saw the look of imminent retreat in his eyes.

The wedding itself was a quiet affair, punctuated whenever she patted him on the arm to point out family members of hers she recognized or those whose identities she could only guess at because the face seemed to fit the name. And the only time he saw her older sister was from afar when she walked stiffly down the aisle as the flower girl. When he whispered in Lily's ear that she seemed too old for it, she merely stated that her elder sister had insisted she take on this role because she was jealous Lily had been the flower girl at their mother's cousin's wedding. They both agreed that Petunia didn't seem to be enjoying herself.

The reception that followed took place that evening at the house of the bride's parents, and although it was simple, there were enough people that Severus had to retreat to the safety of a wall while Lily ran off to greet the bride with the promise that she would return soon. That was when Petunia spotted him, and he cursed himself for letting Lily's bright, green eyes steal away his common sense when she made straight for him with such intent that he considered running away if he didn't think she might chase after him.

She had often held the appearance of one who had tried to eat a lemon, but it was a malady that had only gotten worse with time and which he couldn't help but point out to her on occasion. She said nothing at first, just eyed him up and down, before her thin lips parted, and he inwardly winced before even a word had yet to pass them.

"Look at you, the nerve to come here dressed in…" she gave him another look over with one jerk of her head, "in those rags. I told Lily she couldn't bring someone to a wedding who looked like they had come in off the streets, but she never listens to me."

Severus could feel his face growing hot, even when he shouldn't have been surprised by her words when it was the same kind of thing he had been hearing all his life, and he found that he was unable to meet her sharp gaze and could only stare at her chin when he said, "If it makes you feel any better, I almost didn't come because I didn't want to risk running into a bony, little shrew, so I guess we _both_ didn't get what we wanted."

Her eyes bulged, and her already thin lips nearly disappeared with how hard she pressed them together. "You…you nasty, little boy," she began, and she looked away and crossed her thin arms. "But, I shouldn't be surprised. Just like your father. That's what I've always told Lily. You're just—"

It took all his self-control to keep from throttling her, and even then, he was only prevented from doing so when Lily stepped in completely out of nowhere, standing tall enough that her height appeared to exceed her elder sister's even when the opposite was the case.

"That's a horrible thing to say, Tunie! Apologize right now!"

"I will not!"

"You do it, or I'll- I swear—"

Whether or not Petunia took her sister's vague threat seriously, he didn't stick around to find out, and Severus was headed for the nearest door and was already through it by the time he heard Lily calling after him. He arrived out on the porch and proceeded to march down the steps to head for the lawn even as she scrambled after him, but she was unable to catch up until he had stopped at a tree to fall against it with crossed arms and hunched shoulders.

"Sev, don't listen to a word she says!" Lily said from where she had stopped behind him, but he didn't bother to look back. "Please, come back inside."

"I don't think I'm _allowed_," he said, and he swallowed to rid himself of the quivering he had just detected in his voice that he hoped she hadn't picked up on. "Apparently I _belong_ outdoors."

"Don't talk like that. I think you look…very dashing."

"I look like a mess."

"Then, it's all the more impressive that you look as handsome as you do."

He felt a hand on his arm as she tried to smooth out the wrinkles in his sleeve, but he shook her away as he turned to face her. "Why are you friends with me if I'm so poor?"

"That's what Tunie-that's what Petunia says, not me!"

"It's because you feel sorry for me, isn't it?" He tugged the threadbare jacket off and tossed it on the grass, these efforts only serving to ruffle his shirt and his hair all the more. "You're only friends with me out of pity!" He attempted to remove the bowtie from around his neck, but he had tied the knot so securely that morning that he only succeeded in untying one side.

"Sev—"

He slid down the tree to sit at its base, and he wiped his face with the back of one hand when tears began to pour down his cheeks without his consent, and even in the starlight, he was sure it was obvious, at least from his sniffles, if nothing else. "I'm not good enough for you," he said.

Lily sat down beside him, and she remained silent as he continued to rub at his face, grateful for even the distant chirp of crickets that could distract her from his whimpering. It was only time and a growing cold that had become more pronounced with the removal of his jacket that caused his sniffling to calm and his tears to diminish enough for him to speak again, but only in a whisper to better hide the wavering that had yet to go away.

"Why'd you make me come here?" he asked.

She drew closer, her own voice not much louder than his. "I didn't want to prove Petunia right."

He sniffed and rubbed at his nose as he studied the grass. "You already did."

"Sev, I don't _care_ about how much money your family has or how you dress. I wanted you to come because you're my _friend_. And I…I wanted Petunia to understand that." She released a soft sigh he only caught due to the near silence, the murmuring voices of the gathering just a distant thing, and she slipped one arm through his and rested her head on his shoulder. "I just feel sorry for her. She doesn't have a good friend like I do."

She released another breath, this one longer than the last. "It's a funny thought," she said to herself, and he felt her soft hair brush his cheek when he glanced over to see her better.

"What is?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just…seeing two people standing up there, at the altar…it's just weird to think about."

His whole body tensed as he waited for her to elaborate, and when she remained silent, he had no choice but to question her further. "How…how do you mean?"

She laughed. "It's just hard to imagine that in a few short years, we'll be all grown up, too. It just feels so far off." She trailed off in a dreamy sort of voice, but he said nothing, just turned away to continue absently frowning at the ground and counting the number of weeds he found poking up through the grass. The weight of her head left his shoulder, and he gave a start when she gave him a light peck on the cheek.

His gaze jerked over to stare at her, her face graced with a smile that almost seemed to stand out in the dark, and as she drew closer to snuggle back next to him, there were many times he couldn't comprehend why that smile would ever be directed at him.

* * *

"When I heard 'every flavor beans'," Lily began, "I thought they meant more along the lines of pumpkin pie or glazed ham."

Suppressing an amused grin, Severus' reply was a simple, "It does."

"Well, all I got was snot and dirt."

"And what part of '_every_ flavor' made that a surprise?"

The two were in their third year at Hogwarts, and it just so happened to be the year they had the privilege of visiting the nearby village of Hogsmeade. When asked just what the apparent obsession was with hogs in this particular section of Scotland, he had to admit he was just as baffled as she was.

Their first stop had been Honeydukes, where Lily had promptly stocked up on anything she could get her hands on, the infamous Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans included. He had been honestly surprised to hear she had never before tried them, and he refused to divulge exactly what flavor he had had the misfortune of tasting the very first time he had tried them. Suffice it to say, he hadn't touched the things since.

In fact, he didn't get a single thing, and not just because he barely had the money to spare, but because he firmly believed candy at this age was only for those who still slept with the night light on and who picked their nose when no one was looking. With Lily being the sole exception, of course.

They had headed to the Hog's Head next (again, he could only shrug when she arched an eyebrow at him over the curious naming convention) to try the butter beer, a particular beverage she couldn't get enough of, while he was reduced to waiting out a sweetness-induced stomach ache with his forehead resting upon arms he had crossed on the tabletop while she downed both of theirs.

After shuffling back outside once she had had her fill, the brisk winter air helped to aid in his recovery, and they took to strolling the cobblestoned streets and taking in the sights, while she tried a bit of every type of candy she had purchased. He refused any and all her offers at sharing, save for one chocolate frog that deserved to be eaten for nearly getting away.

"I told you not to waste your money," Severus continued, as Lily grimaced at the still open box of Every Flavor Beans in her hand that remained nearly full and would likely stay that way.

"If you didn't have a habit of disliking _everything_, maybe I'd take your advice more often." She wrapped a scarf striped in the Griffindor red and gold more tightly about her neck. "Where to next?"

"Nowhere that I can think of." He paused as he caught sight of a tall building beyond the edge of town, a house that looked rickety and uncared for, even from this far away, and which seemed to be maintaining its distance by choice rather than simple placement. "Maybe we should head back to school."

"So soon? We still have the whole day ahead of us." She trailed off when she noticed the very thing that had caught his attention, and though he broke his gaze upon it, it was too late. "What's that place?"

"It's nothing. Just someone's house. Let's go." He made to leave, but turned right back around when she remained where she was. "Lily…"

"What _is_ it? You're the one who knows so much about the wizarding world—"

"No more than _you_ do anymore."

Her smile widened, growing only more mischievous as she looked back at him. "The only reason you'd admit such a thing is if you're hiding something. So what is it?"

He shifted his weight from one foot to another as she awaited his answer. He sighed. "It looks like the Shrieking Shack, but—"

"The Shrieking Shack? Well, how can we leave before we've seen the _Shrieking_ Shack?" She backed away, and before he could stop her, she turned and started to run off down the path, while he hurried after her.

"Lily, come back!"

She slowed just once to look back over her shoulder. "Oh, come on, Sev! I won't do anything stupid! I just want a closer look!"

With that, she took off faster than ever before, and he became quite certain he stood little chance of catching up after her head start. They made the only set of footprints on a path that no one had bothered to clear of snow, and he only managed to close the distance between them once she had stopped at the crooked fence that even those who came this far didn't dare cross. His breath made puffs of frost as he stopped beside her, the so-called "Shack" looking even more ominous now that they stood directly in front of it, and if he stared hard enough, he could almost swear the walls were swaying.

He pressed his eyes tightly closed to rid himself of what was surely just a result of not enough sleep, and when he opened them again, Lily's head was tilted to the side.

"I don't _hear_ anything."

"Hmm?"

She grinned at him. "Shrieking, Sev. I don't hear any."

"That's just what it's called." When she took to listening again, he asked, "Aren't you cold?"

It took her a moment to respond, but despite the growing redness in her cheeks, her answer was only a preoccupied, "No. Are you?"

He wasn't, but he blamed it on being born in January a mere month after their furnace had died. They hadn't the money to fix it. His father claimed they could have if they didn't have a son to take care of, but he had been using that excuse every winter for the last fourteen years.

"I bet if I got closer…"

Severus' attention snapped back to her just as she was climbing through the fence in a place where one of the posts had fallen loose. He attempted to grab hold of her and pull her back before she could do anything foolish, at least, more so than she already had, but all he ended up with was her scarf clutched in one fist as she straightened up on the other side.

"I'll be right back. I promise!"

"Lily! Wait!"

But, she was already strolling off towards the Shrieking Shack with an irritating casualness he knew was on purpose, and he stood up on tiptoe with his hands resting atop the fence when he lost sight of her over the next hill.

"Lily! Where are you?"

"I'm fine, Sev! It'll only take a minute!"

"Well, if-if you die, would you let me know so I don't waste any more of my time waiting around! Lily, answer me!"

He awaited her return with a steadily quickening heartbeat, all the while leaning further and further over the fence to such an extent that he might very well topple over it headfirst if she didn't appear soon. His attention was so focused on listening for the returning crunch of her footsteps, in fact, that he didn't detect the approaching footfalls of a larger group of individuals from quite the opposite direction.

His head jerked forward of its own will when he was struck from behind with a snowball, and he was greeted with the familiar mocking laughter of four boys before he had even had the chance to turn around.

"Was that your first bath this year, Snivelus?" James asked, while his collective cronies of Sirius, Remus, and Peter all guffawed along with him.

Before Severus could respond, before even one of his much-rehearsed comebacks could resurface in his mind, he was struck in the face by another snowball James already had prepared in his hands.

"I suspect just one won't do much good, though."

Spluttering cold water from his face and wiping it out of his eyes with one sleeve, Severus brandished his wand to a collective chorus of feigned fear. A hex was already forming on his lips when a third snowball flew his way, but he was too slow, and he dropped his wand when he was struck in the hand.

This time, it was Sirius' turn to draw back his arm, another snowball at the ready, but James stilled him with a raised hand as he watched their victim stoop to pick his wand up from the snow, an effort which took several attempts in his haste.

"No, no, Padfoot, it wouldn't be very fair to attack someone when they're defenseless. It's always so much better to humiliate them when they're armed."

Their victim held his wand at the ready, and Sirius took this as his cue to send another snowball in his direction, but this time it didn't reach its intended target, but was reduced to steam halfway there by a curtain of fire that arose to protect him.

The leader of the bullies clapped one hand against the other, Severus' tactic of self-defense not seeming to have put a dent in the teen's arrogant smirk. "Not bad, Snivelus. But I'm afraid you won't get away that easily. Slytherins need a good punishing every now and then, and I'm not about to deny you the privilege."

James drew his own wand, followed by the rest of his lackeys, even as Peter made sure to retreat to the back, but before Severus could find out what nasty scheme James had concocted in that shriveled, little brain of his, Lily jumped out from behind a nearby copse of pine trees, and with one grand sweep of her wand, dowsed the entire group with a deluge of water.

They froze, a most opportune choice of words, to stare in complete bewilderment at her with their mouths open and their hair flattened in their faces. Then, without a word, they retreated from the scene, to find someplace warm to dry their soaked clothing before they really did freeze in the frigid winter air.

Severus turned to her with about as much astonishment as had been present on the faces of his assailants, but she merely grinned as she approached, a wild sparkle in her eyes that could only be brought about by pure adrenaline.

She linked an arm through his and winked. "Let's go, Sev. Hogsmeade has _too_ many pigs for my liking."

* * *

Severus rarely failed to take notice of the looks the other students gave Lily and him, the way they had to look twice whenever they were together, the second glance a bemused stare to see two people that couldn't have been more different from each other. It was baffling enough to see a Slytherin and a Griffindor within ten feet of the other without any sign of hostilities, but he knew there was a deeper reason they would exchange grins before heading on their way.

They were too different, most people said; they didn't belong together. Lily was a joy to be around, the very reason she had many friends, so what was she doing hanging out with _him_? Severus, to say the least, was unpleasant. It didn't matter that he had good reasons for his unpopular disposition, or that he only treated people the way they deserved, but it was this very attitude that made him very few friends, save fellow Slytherins Avery and Mulciber. And by some freak chance of fate, Lily Evans.

Lily saw the best in people; Severus saw the worst. He would be deluded to see any more than that. It was the reason she was warm, as warm as her red hair, while he was as cold as an autumn day when it was just on the verge of breaking the boundary into full-fledged winter. He would defend wholeheartedly that life had made him this way, but all that mattered in the end was the sloppy boy with the unwashed, black hair and the pinched, sallow face had no _right_ being friends with the vivacious and pretty Lily Evans.

It wasn't _natural_, and that's why they stared, and sometimes he would stare right back until they looked away, but more often than not, he would avert his gaze, which was why he was busy staring at the pages of a book he had already finished reading, while Lily sat nearby in their chosen corner of the castle courtyard for the afternoon, her back to him to aid in concentration, trying with all her might to change water into hot cocoa. She was a bright girl, a compliment he would be hard pressed to offer anyone else, but the many hours of solitary study he expended his time on when he wasn't with her, a pastime he was sure the other students found far more acceptable, made him pick up such talents just a tad sooner than she did.

He had already succeeded in turning a glass of water into tea yesterday. It was hardly fit to drink, but the details of the assignment didn't include making it palatable.

Severus peeked over the top of the book with his eyebrows drawn low as he watched Lily flicking her wand this way and that over the glass, her efforts changing the color of the liquid within, but not the substance.

"You have to move your wand like this. Let me show you."

She looked back just as he was taking his wand out of his robes, and his hand was stilled by her mere gaze alone. "I've already told you, I can figure it out myself, Mr. Know-It-All."

"Suit yourself," he said with a shrug.

"I will."

After a breath to steady herself, she returned right to muttering incantations that were only one syllable off, and while he would have normally been fine watching her wile away the hours on the same task due to a stubbornness that normally exceeded even hers, he removed his wand anyway with a roll of his eyes, and with one swift motion and a few carefully pronounced words, the water swirled about for a few quick seconds to be replaced by hot cocoa, steam and all. Now, if he had been able to add marshmallows…

Lily's attention shot back to him, her red hair swinging in her face, and she directed a stern gaze at him that cracked into a smirk when she caught sight of his own, smug grin.

"You're such a show off sometimes, you know that?"

His only response was another shrug, and she picked up the glass, alternating hands to fend off the heat before settling with holding it with one hand placed at the top. She took a tentative sip, and he watched with bated breath for her response.

"Not half bad," she said, and she moved closer to sit beside him as she got to drinking her cocoa.

He did not return to his book, however, but continued to watch her even as people walked by to all the places students went in their free time, most often nowhere in particular but to walk, and even those passing by could see where the opposites between the two reversed, for even they saw the warmth his dark eyes always held only when he looked at her. A warmth she never seemed to notice.

She didn't notice.

* * *

"So, are we going to the game or not?"

Severus had been so focused on his thoughts that it took these words to alert him to the fact that Lily had stopped dead in her tracks before they had even gone halfway along the path leading to the Quidditch stadium.

"You don't usually mind if you can read the whole time," she continued with crossed arms, "but you're obviously bothered by something, so what is it?"

The frown that had been keeping him company all morning strengthened its hold on his thin face, but all he responded with was, "Did I say anything?"

"No, but I've known you long enough to tell the difference between your usual sour look and your grumpy one."

He thrust his hands in his pockets as he turned his attention to a distant group of trees, as if they actually held any interest for him. "If you really _do_ know me that well," Severus began, "then it shouldn't surprise you that I hate jocks and the fact that their joint virtues of arrogance and idiocy is the very thing that makes them so popular, while anyone with even an ounce of intelligence gets jeered at." He broke off at the end of his tirade, formerly unaware it was even coming until the words had left his mouth.

She shook her head. "My mistake. You're not in a foul mood _at all_." She paused as a group of students strode by, and he mimicked her own cross-armed stance if only as a distraction from their prolonged stares in their direction. By the time she spoke again, his gaze had fallen to inspect the ground between them.

"Well, we're not going anywhere until we get this cleared up. I'm not about to have you pouting next to me the whole time. I know you, you'll think you're doing me a favor by not talking, when it's actually more annoying than anything. And let me tell you, I'm really not in the mood for it today."

"You mean you're not in the mood for _me_," he told the ends of his own shoes, and he winced before she even had a chance to respond.

"Excuse me?"

He turned away to stare off in the opposite direction, the impressive form of Hogwarts looming in the distance, a far more suitable thing to feign interest in, and he could only respond with a muttered, "Never mind," his voice dropped to a tone so soft, only one with ears practiced in catching it could pick up on it.

"Severus."

He said nothing until he heard the approaching crunch of her footsteps on the worn, stone path, and he spoke partly just to still her. "I saw you."

"What?"

"I saw—"

"I heard you. You saw me doing _what_?"

"It wasn't _what_ you were doing. It was _who_ you were with." He turned back to her, but promptly regretted it when he saw the look on her face. "Y-you were with Potter. You were walking with him."

"I'm not allowed to walk now?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but she continued over him, "He was carrying my books. His jerk of a sidekick Sirius tripped me, and then he, James, I mean, had the nerve to insist he carry my things for me. I told him to get lost, but he wouldn't give me my books back until I let him walk—" She stopped with her mouth still open, her brow furrowed at some missed key point in their discussion. "Wait a minute…" She stepped towards him, and he stepped back. "Were you…watching us?"

"No."

"It was weird enough that you spied on Petunia and me as kids," she went on, her voice rising as she made for him, while he continued to backtrack to maintain the distance between them, "but _now_? I seriously thought you would have outgrown that. When _else_ have you decided to stalk me?"

"Do you like him?"

"Severus! Answer me!"

"Well, _do_ you?"

To his great relief, she stopped, but not before he had been backed up beyond the path and into grass that was still wet from that morning's rainfall. Her mouth remained open for several seconds, and she shook her head. "No, and you ought to know that by now! Do you really think I'm that disloyal that I'd date someone who picks on my…my friend?"

"Is _that_ why you go to the Quidditch games? All the other girls fancy his kind! Is that…"

Lily pressed her lips together, her nostrils flaring as she breathed out. "I'm not shallow. Why do you think I've stayed friends with _you_ this long?"

Her cheeks paled as her earlier rage rushed from her face, and they stood staring at each other until he averted his gaze when he caught a wetness in her eyes that she immediately blinked away.

"Well," she began, and paused to lick her lips, "if you don't want to go, that's fine. I won't ever ask you again."

She turned away with a swish of her robes and retreated down the walkway with quick steps, and he found that in his temporary paralysis, he could do nothing but watch her go.

* * *

I made butter beer once. It was pretty good. Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans were an ordeal, though.

Please review!


	3. Chapter 3: The Professor

**Chapter 3: The Professor**

Severus hadn't showered in a week; he hadn't eaten in half as long. He had poured forth his sorrows to the Headmaster until nothing remained but an empty shell, and only then did he return to a silent room on the upper floor of the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade, to slump in an old, wooden chair in the corner and await sunrise. He had always been a broken man, but the night Lily, Lily _Potter_, had died was the night that broken, fragile shell had shattered, and he didn't care to stoop down and pick up the pieces.

Even if he did, he could never put himself back together again when the most vital piece of all was eternally lost to him.

He stared at the ceiling with eyes that appeared devoid of life, a state he would have found preferable if Dumbledore hadn't quashed the notion before it could grow into something more, and as still as he was, it wouldn't take much imagination to believe it. Many hours passed before he stirred, and when he finally did, it was only to rise to his feet and pause as if he wasn't certain where to proceed from there.

His long, black robes hung crooked and tussled as if they had been slept in, and only his coat didn't show quite the amount of wear for how close-fitting it was, how ill-fitting it was the way the collar rose too high beneath his chin and the cuffs encroached beyond his wrists, and few could say if he had chosen to dress in such a manner out of a lack of concern for how he looked or because he wished to clothe himself in something he could more easily hide within.

His eyelids drooped in a slow blink with a lethargy clear even across the dimly lit room. A decision had been made within his mind, and Severus, or simply Snape, as he had more commonly come to be known, apparated to a quiet neighborhood in the tiny village of Godric's Hollow long past bedtime, and it would have appeared as absolutely any other neighborhood if there hadn't been one thing glaringly out of place.

The house he stood before bore a large hole in its roof, a gaping wound which accounted for only a fraction of what damage had really been done, but he wouldn't proceed any further than the empty street that lay outside it. Not tonight. He stared up at the dark and unseeing windows, and he remembered the destruction that had taken place inside, the debris that had littered the ground.

And yet the crib, the crib had remained intact, not one scratch on its surface, not one splinter out of place.

And it wasn't until after his mind was no longer reeling and the numbness had faded to the point that he could begin to _think_ about what had happened that he was filled with countless questions, none of which he had yet to pin down any real answers to.

Why had it never occurred to him that a mother would sacrifice herself for her child? When he had pleaded with Lord Voldemort to spare her, why had it never passed his mind that she wouldn't sit idly by as her husband and son were killed?

Dumbledore had told him it was love that had spared the boy, Lily's love, and nothing more, something so impossible that he had never taken it into consideration, never once imagined in his wildest dreams that such a thing could eclipse even the Dark Lord's power. Her love was so strong that it could counteract the killing curse, while his own love had done absolutely nothing to save _her_….

In the end, it was as if he _had_ done nothing to save her.

He wasn't strong like her, Snape had realized that night. And as he returned to the inn back in Hogsmeade, with nowhere else he could crawl back to, he wondered if he could ever, would ever, have the strength to sacrifice himself for another.

Now _that_ was a death wish even Dumbledore couldn't deny him.

* * *

Professor Snape would never be faulted for trying to hide the fact that he disliked children, making the career choice of "teacher" an exceedingly baffling one. The only redeeming quality they had were the occasions he could disregard their existence. His fellow professors were not children, nor were the goblins he had to deal with at Gringotts, nor the shopkeeper at the Apothecary in Diagon Alley. Unfortunately, being a teacher, that sad fact brought him into contact with a good number of children, all of which he was forced to interact with, and with a horrifying frequency. Daily, as was most often the case.

There was one student in particular, however, that the Potions Master had the greatest disdain for, more so than any other he had been forced to take on as a pupil in the full decade he had been employed at Hogwarts. (Good Lord, had it only been a decade?) The boy had been given the title of "the Boy Who Lived", their very own celebrity, and had been known across the entirety of the wizarding community since he was but an infant, but all Snape heard was that this whelp was the one, the _only_ one, who had _lived_.

Trust his luck that in the _one_ instance the Dark Lord agrees to spare a life, he spares the wrong one.

It was most fitting that the boy had James' face, as he was just as arrogant as his father was, relishing in the fame that had been awarded him, not due to hard work or a keen intellect, but by sheer, dumb luck. What set the Potions Master's blood boiling most of all, however, was that the boy had been blessed with _her_ eyes, her vibrant, green eyes. That face had no _right_ to have those eyes.

The celebrated and esteemed little vagrant went by the name of Harry Potter, but which he addressed simply as Potter, as he deserved no more than what he had called the boy's father all those many miserable years ago, and as idiotic as the rabble that comprised his students was, Potter was the worst. Lazy and incompetent, he was incapable of following the recipes of even the most mundane of potions or answering the most basic of questions ("Where would you find a bezoar" indeed), thinking he could slide by on his status alone. Frankly, he was half-surprised the boy was even literate, and if it weren't for his know-it-all friend Granger, he wouldn't have made it through his first year.

Never mind. Dumbledore clearly enjoyed playing favorites. What a fun seven years _this_ would be.

Today, the Potions Master had tasked his group of second-years with the creation of

Tacitus Liberandum, a particular draught he himself had mastered in his _first_ year at Hogwarts, but who was he to expect the same from _them_? It only involved following a set of directions even a _Muggle_ would understand.

He watched them struggle and fret; one student, Longbottom, was actually chewing his nails in a hopeless desperation, and had this been any other class, they would have resorted to asking their teacher for help long ago, but they were more than familiar with his motto by now. There were no stupid questions. Just stupid students. Scratch that. That first part must've gotten in there by mistake.

And amidst it all was Potter, floundering about as always. He wouldn't be surprised if—

The Professor blinked to clear the obvious inconsistency in his vision, but upon his second perusal, the boy appeared, in fact, to be the most collected in the room, even more so than Granger, who took her apparent vow of perfection far too seriously than was good for her. Surely this calm the boy had taken up during today's assignment stemmed from nothing more than simple apathy than anything else.

The Potions Master strode forward until he had stopped beside the boy, and he hovered over him to stare down into a cauldron which contained a concoction that was the exact shade of chartreuse and which exuded the aroma of almonds, a detail no one but him would notice, but it was there. It was a delicate thing, which would be ruined if it met the slightest disturbance, but in a few short minutes, it would be perfect.

There was only one student, besides himself, who had successfully brewed such a potion on their first try. It was one, in fact, that Lily excelled in.

Snape bumped the table as he turned away to take up his usual spot at the head of the room, and when he looked back, the simmering bubbles at the top of the boy's cauldron had disappeared and the potion's pure color had been reduced to a murky brown.

He arched one eyebrow as Potter looked up at him in clear befuddlement. "My, my, Potter, I would've expected the youngest Griffindor Seeker in century to not be so clumsy. A shame."

Snape had been stricken with the slightest twinge of an inward smirk as he walked away, and it lasted for the remainder of the class period, the rare feeling only growing when he had dismissed them and would have a full several minutes of peace to look forward to until the next group came. But, if he thought that would be all he would have to endure of Potter for the day, he was mistaken when he heard a weak cough from behind him as he organized his notes for the next set of dunderheads he would be facing today.

"Get to class. If you couldn't finish your assignment the first time, I give no second chances."

There was no answer at first, and he began to muse over the sound being imagined, when he heard a soft and unsure, "I-I need to ask you something."

The Professor rounded on the one responsible for the refusal, and sure enough, it was Potter, staring up at him with his ragged mop of black hair falling in his bespectacled eyes.

"Excuse me?" Snape said, and normally that would have been enough to send anyone running, but not Potter, and the boy's jaw opened and closed, choked noises leaving him that had yet to form into words.

"If you have something to say," Professor Snape began, his words short and clipped, "then I suggest. You say it."

Potter licked his lips, and he pulled in a deep breath before asking, "What…what is it about me you hate so much?"

Snape's cold stare remained unchanged, but that hidden smirk was gone as he looked down into those green eyes.

It was _insulting_ that he should have her eyes.

"Everything," was the word that jumped first to his mind, _everything_, but his heart went cold before that single word passed his lips, for the hurt look he saw not in Potter's eyes, but in Lily's, the same look she had when he called her a…

If Lily knew how he treated her son…

The Potions Master bit back his response, and his next words were too soft for almost even the boy to hear. "Get. To class. Mr. Potter."

Professor Snape turned his back on the boy when Potter continued to stare, and it wasn't long before he heard the retreating sound of footsteps echoing off behind him before it blended into that made by the next group of students as they began to filter into the room, their entrance muted due to a shared dread no other class could inspire.

She would be livid if she knew.

* * *

The grim-faced Potions Master never wanted to admit that the nightmares of his youth had come back, that he'd wake up every night yelling and in a cold sweat, for in his nightmares, Lily died by his own hand, and in all honesty, she had.

"_Do you get nightmares, Sev?"_

"Yes. A-all the time."

* * *

Spinner's End hadn't changed much in the few long decades that had passed since a certain boy was born on a particularly frigid January morning, least of all the Snape residence, which remained as cold and imposing as it ever had, even when many believed it abandoned now that the two former owners were long dead. There were occasions during the summers, which managed to seem a few degrees colder here than in any other part of England, that the neighbors swore they saw the curtains move or a dim light in the window, but no one had knocked on the door for a good many years to find out who it could be, and no one was going to do it now.

Professor Snape often returned to the house, the one thing his deceased parents had thought to leave him, how kind of them, by the rather ridiculous, but undeniably effective, means of travel known as flu powder, and it was here he spent his time whenever there was an extended break from the scatterbrained students he had been forced to teach for more years than he cared to count. No one knew that this was where he went, save Dumbledore, the only man he was unable to keep any secrets from; they only knew that he was away and were grateful for it.

It was a decaying house, preserved with the same unhappiness it had always bore since before he could remember, as if the feeling had seeped into the very structure itself and was the reason for the paint crumbling from the walls. The damage could be fixed easily enough with a few, simple spells, but the Potions Master knew better than to try and cover up the past with a fresh coat of paint and new curtains.

Every summer without end, he would entomb himself in the cramped sitting room of his childhood home, lined with nothing but dusty books and memories of a past he had stopped trying to run from, his only company the yellowing letters he had hoarded over the years, all of which were written by the same person, and yet none of which were addressed to him, along with aging and torn photographs of the one who had written them, always the same person and no one more.

He could so easily visit _her_ old house and the spot where they used to sit by the river. It was a thought he oft considered, but never acted upon, because a certain part of him argued that it had changed, and he preferred to only see it as his mind did, even if he was well aware that even memories had a way of distorting the truth.

And on no particular evening, when he found himself marveling at the fact that he was only 35, even if he felt so much older, Snape sat listening to the pattering of rain on the window panes as he sipped tea he hadn't even noticed had gone cold, while a newspaper lay unfolded and forgotten on his lap. Today was no different a day than any other, he thought absently to himself, a passing observation that came from nowhere and went the same place.

But any further musings his mind might have travelled were interrupted by a shuffling to his right, and he looked over to find a rat that had inexplicably pulled itself onto one of the shelves, no doubt by using the tattered, old books as purchase. It was the very same rat, he was certain, that he had caught poking about under the table in the corner just under a week ago, and his heartbeat quickened to see that it was currently busy sniffing about the box in which he kept all the letters he had ever accumulated.

Snape reached into his robes with an almost imperceptible movement to draw out his wand, and with one careful motion, he flicked it at the rodent with an "Immobulus" hidden just under his breath, but the rat jerked aside quite unscathed, no doubt a result of his great care to avoid hitting the box, even as a small corona of collected dust burst forth around it from the miniature blast. With no further delay, the wretched creature made to flee, knocking the box down from its shelf in its great haste to escape, and he watched in stunned horror as the two tumbled together to the ground.

The letters scattered before the box even met the floor, countless pages swooping away almost with a mind of their own, and the man dropped to the floor to collect as many as he could before even one could slip beneath the furniture or stray too close to the crackling fireplace, as if he expected the letters to be intent on their own suicides, while the rat scurried away into the kitchen, to be lost again in some forgotten cranny of the house until next it made its presence known.

He remained on his hands and knees until he had gathered them all up, and even when the last of the wayward pages had been returned to the box, any thoughts of closing the lid were halted when his eyes took notice of a page resting atop the pile that he never recalled reading before. And he would remember; he had memorized _all_ her letters, and he would have noticed if one had been soiled with a spot of purple jam in the middle. He could only surmise it had become stuck to the bottom of the page that came before it and had just now been jostled free for the first time since he had obtained it.

He picked it up and brought the wrinkled parchment close to his face as he studied its contents. It was a postscript, addressed to whom, he couldn't remember, and he read it again and again, his lips silently mouthing each and every word of it like a ritual, to ensure he wasn't mistaken.

The letter was about him, that much he knew, and that alone was shocking enough. Though they had been friends for years, not once did he recall finding a letter in which any mention of himself was made. Maybe it was the circumstance in which their friendship ended. Maybe, and which worried him most might be the case, her feelings for Potter had caused her to all but forget about him. He shook this thought away, and his unbelief made him read the contents of the page one more time.

"_Looking back on it, I suppose I know why he did what he did, why certain words were exchanged. But, I forgive him for it. And I wish I could have told him that before we finished school. I know he doesn't have the fondest feelings towards James, but it would've been nice if he knew he could have visited from time to time."_

Professor Snape, _Severus_ Snape, returned the final page to the box and closed the lid as he resumed his earlier silence, a heaviness settling in his chest that he couldn't explain, and he forced himself to rise and return the box to its shelf with shaking hands.

He fell back into his armchair to take up his reading as if his attention had never strayed from it, while the rain continued its ceaseless patter outside from the dark clouds that hung low like a shroud over Spinner's End, forever grey, like he always remembered it to be, while the mind of a boy once again found it safe to wander to a past he had not dared venture in too long. Even if he hadn't seen it in decades, he knew the river hadn't changed in all that time, and he could imagine a girl still awaited him at its banks.

Always.

* * *

I hope you guys enjoyed my collection of shorts. I had fun writing them, particularly that one with Harry, which was written last, but I thought Lily's own son seriously needed a mention.

Please review and tell me what you think! Hopefully I didn't get many details wrong, but "Harry Potter" is a complicated series.


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